


Tomaj At The Sandsea. Up Top.

by astrangerenters



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 13:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/pseuds/astrangerenters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pouring drinks for the Archadians is only half of his own living. He makes the other half by trading their secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomaj At The Sandsea. Up Top.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [argle_fraster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/gifts).



> Team Ramuh!! For Rare Character / Rare Relationship Month.
> 
> Written for this prompt:  
> Ashe/Tomaj during her time hiding beneath Rabanastre.
> 
> It ended up being more Tomaj --> Ashe but I'm just happy to play in the FFXII sandbox again!

The Archadians don't seem to like that Rabanastre has gone to ground. They're used to being occupiers after their years in Landis and what's left of Nabradia, but a capital like Rabanastre is a lot more slippery to manage. 

At first it might have seemed like a great idea, shoving Rabanastre's people into Lowtown and out of sight. But it's only made the resistance stronger. In the capital's main streets and even in the tight corners of the bazaar, it's easy for the heavily-armored grunts to wander around, impose their will. 

But in Lowtown it's a maze, and they can't control it so easily. Tomaj has heard of foot soldiers going missing down there, and the whispers at the Imperial tables near the bar imply that the numbers of missing are growing. And while some of them don't turn up again, some are found days later, sunk to the bottom of one of the dozens of murky arms of the Garamsythe. A bloated corpse to send home to their prim, proper, perfumed mothers back in Archades.

Tomaj earns half his living pouring drinks for the men and women that occupy his city. He doesn't find them to be bad people on an individual basis - they gripe about the desert sun and how it makes them bake in their armor. They have sweethearts back home they mention when they're drunk on the cheapest Dalmascan red. They wish for a more plum position working the aerodrome instead of out in the heat on foot patrol.

So they're just doing their jobs, and Tomaj can't fault them for it. But again, pouring drinks for the Archadians is only half of his own living. He makes the other half by trading their secrets.

Tomaj doesn't have to do much - he just has to wait until the monthly wages for the infantry come in, and the whispers make their way to him. A drink here, a drink there, and Tomaj gets a heads up about a caravan due in the Estersand three days hence. A bottle of Nabradian rotgut, and a new shift commander is arriving at the palace. 

Because again, they're just doing their jobs, these Archadians, and the desert heat gets them awfully chatty. Tomaj pockets their hard-earned wages and easily-offered secrets in equal measure.

The Resistance is more slippery than an eel in the Nebra, but the secrets Tomaj acquires always manage to get to the right people. It's a vast network in Lowtown, and Tomaj doesn't much care how many people his secrets pass through to get to the top of the food chain. So long as he overhears the soldiers complaining a few nights later about their caravan being robbed or the shift commander getting ambushed in the streets, he feels he's done his civic duty. And he has the coin to prove it.

He's got a good one today, Archadian flour, a wagon-load of it coming through the East Gate in two days. The Sandsea's doing alright where flour is concerned for the moment. Instead of the palace kitchens where the occupying commanders will have it made it into some bread and have the unused remainder tossed, Tomaj wants to see that flour distributed elsewhere. So he leaves the clean, dry heat topside and descends.

Lowtown smells like the sweat of too many bodies. It smells of rotten food and Hume waste, but for half of Rabanastre, it's home now. He dodges some half-naked, filthy kids playing tag, making his way over one of the makeshift platforms someone's constructed over one of the many narrow slivers of water that rush throughout the underground. It's not like the Archadians are putting any gil into the Lowtown infrastructure.

His usual contact down here doesn't require him to work his way too far into the maze, but the kid, Pano, isn't waiting on his usual crate. Tomaj waits half an hour, the flour shipment details desperate on the tip of his tongue, before he decides to take his chances. Maybe Pano hasn't been authorized to pay for any news today.

It's not worth walking all the way to Old Dalan's. That always ends in a wild chocobo chase and little return on his investment. Instead it only takes 1500 gil and his belt for an old Bangaa woman to recommend someone he can talk to. Well, he can always get a new belt. 

The Bangaa could barely see in the dim underground light, and the map she's drawn for him is crude, but he'll manage. He doesn't have the worst sense of direction. He follows the map, down one corridor, through another, and the eyes of hungry kids and old folks alike follow him with interest. One flour shipment might not do much more than keep them alive another week, but Tomaj isn't exactly a miracle worker. He's doing what he can.

The person he's looking for is Laika, a middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair. He turns a corner and spots the back of a dirty blonde head. "Gotcha," he mutters to himself. Laika's quick, going in the direction Tomaj's map is telling him to go, and he follows as best he can without spooking her. 

But the next corner he turns reminds him that Lowtown isn't his home because this Laika's got him pinned up against the wall with a dagger to his throat. And when he sees the angry eyes and unwrinkled, pinched face looking at him, he knows this can't be Laika. This girl's younger than he is. Despite the inevitable Lowtown grime that's left her hair limp and her clothes smelling like eternal damp, she's a gorgeous one to look at with light eyes and a slender frame. 

"Stop following me," Not-Laika warns him, and the dagger at his pulse is nothing to laugh at.

"Sorry," he says. "Thought you were someone else. But maybe you could help me find her?"

Her eyes narrow. "I'm not your tour guide."

He holds up his hands in innocence, liking this girl a lot already. He'd like to see her go toe to toe with an Archadian - she certainly has the attitude for foolish pursuits. "I'm on your side, friend. My name's Tomaj, I work at the Sandsea up top. You know the Sandsea?"

"I don't drink."

"Fair enough," he says. "I'm doing okay for myself without your patronage. But if you could just lower that blade a bit..."

She doesn't take her eyes off him as she moves it away. He figures she knows how to use it, but at least they're chatting in a more civil manner now. "I don't have time for small talk. And I'm not your friend."

"I'm looking for a lady named Laika. Ever heard of her?"

The girl's eyes betray her then, even as she shakes her head and says "I haven't." She's all action, all pride - not as cautious as she could be. She probably lets her dagger do most of the talking.

"Well, again, I'm Tomaj. At the Sandsea. Up top. Looking for Laika, hoping to complete a business transaction. If you see her around, could you let her know that time is of the essence?"

"I already told you," the girl says, narrowing her pretty eyes. "I don't know her."

This girl and Laika have to be in the Resistance together or at least this Not-Laika girl knows someone who is. Tomaj decides to leave it up to her. He can always come back down here to sell his information tomorrow at twice the price.

The girl lets him go, and when he gets back up to the streets, happily inhaling the clean air, her eyes seem to stay with him.

\--

That night someone from the Resistance comes to the Sandsea and buys his flour knowledge off of him at a very competitive price. More than he even usually reserves for the hunters he hires to protect his own Estersand shipments. Not-Laika has come through for him.

He wants to see her again, and he's going to need a secret or twenty to do it. He listens extra carefully the next few nights, opening bottle after bottle of the Sandsea's best liquor and accepting the loss of income. It'll be more fun selling his secrets to her instead of using those filthy little kids they usually employ. The kids don't have her stormy eyes and equally stormy temperament, and tending bar all night has kept Tomaj from pursuing any interests of his own lately.

It takes him a few weeks to find her again. Tomaj recognizes a lot of faces up top, at least those that frequent the Sandsea and the surrounding neighborhood. He never sees this girl around - she must be a permanent Lowtown resident. Tomaj hasn't really met too many of those - most people surface at least an hour a day if they can to remember what sunlight and fresh air are like.

He spies the girl negotiating a price on wilted cabbage, and even though the seller is lowballing her, the girl seems to want to pay more than it's worth. When the seller reluctantly pockets the girl's money, Tomaj follows without concealing himself. She can run if she really wants to, but if she's really in the Resistance, she doesn't dare let Archadian whispers get away from her.

He wanders around the corner into a dead-end passageway, and she's there with her bag of stinky cabbage. "I think you got ripped off on that, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart."

"Then give me a name, and I'll address you properly." 

He knows that like a good girl in the Resistance, she's spreading the wealth around, giving the kids and cabbage merchants the spoils of their skirmishes with the Archadians. It's nice of her to do it, but doesn't she know that she can't save everyone?

"Amalia," she allows, clutching her purchases. "What do you want this time, Tomaj, at the Sandsea, up top?"

That she's remembered him so completely is a credit to the Resistance for finding someone both whip smart and stupidly generous. "Do you know a safe place to talk?"

"This seems as safe as any."

"So I can trust you?" he asks, and the indignant look she answers him with makes his stomach tumble a bit in delight. He really likes this girl. "Very well."

He tells her in detail about a reroute of some dried meats coming all the way from Archades. With the ambushes in the Stepping, the Archadians are moving things through the Labyrinth down to Giza, chancing the beasts there to bring their shipments through the South Gate. It's adding a day onto their journeys, but it's working so far. 

Amalia seems to delight in the knowledge that the Resistance is causing such a nuisance, the sour look on her face turning cautiously neutral as he speaks. This must be how a grumpy girl like her shows happiness.

When he finishes his news, she merely inclines her head and heads off, cabbage in tow. "Now wait a second," he says, catching hold of her arm.

The look she gives him is enough to get him to let her go immediately, but he's still enduring the stench of Lowtown to bring her this valuable intel, and he tells her as much. "This doesn't come for free, you know. I risked my life getting this information."

Well, that's not quite true, but it's not like she's ever visited the Sandsea before. He'd remember someone like her.

"You were right," she says with a smirk. "I think that cabbage seller ripped me off, because I don't have a gil to give you."

He crosses his arms. "Oh? So can I follow you to your nest and get my reward?"

"You may not. Someone will visit your establishment tonight and pay you..."

"Well, that's not good enough," he protests, deciding that it's now or never. It took him this long to find her again, and he'll be gods-damned if he doesn't at least try.

"So it's just money that you're after?" she asks bitterly. "It's not about Dalmasca's freedom at all, but making a quick gil on secrets?"

"That's what Dalmasca has become," he reminds her. "Look around you, Amalia. It's every Hume for himself now."

"I don't believe that."

It's not too smart messing with the Resistance, he knows, but it's not like the Archadians are going anywhere. The king is dead, and the princess with him. Do they even have a plan for what happens on the off-chance they overthrow the occupation? Tomaj isn't fond of Archadia, but he doesn't want a bunch of thugs running the city.

"Go out with me," he tells her boldly. "Have dinner with me, and the price is paid."

She scoffs at his offer. "I liked you better when it was gil you were after."

"So you _did_ like me?" She looks away, and he imagines it's to keep from punching him. He tries to soften his tone. "Amalia, let me be honest with you. I'm not a selfish monster. I'm a businessman. Now I don't know what kind of life you've got down here, buying secrets from people like me, but it's not safe. You don't have to stay in Lowtown. I have contacts up top who can find you a room to rent, a proper job. The Archadians haven't killed all our commerce yet, Rabanastre's too valuable. You don't have to put yourself at risk..."

"All of this in exchange for dinner?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "What can I say, I just don't think someone as pretty as you should be living down here."

She seems to clutch her cabbage a little tighter. "I'm not pretty. I do things that are far from it. Ugly things, wretched things."

He suspects that Amalia's not so much an intelligence scout as she is a ranking member of the Resistance, one of the men and women who leave Archadians to be found in the sewers. He wonders what it must be like, wanting Dalmasca to be free so badly you'd kill for it.

"I am sorry, Tomaj," she says and seems to mean it. "Lowtown is where I belong. Someone will come to your establishment and pay you for your help, I swear it. And I thank you," she mutters quickly and turns to move away.

"Amalia," he tries again, and she waits. "Do you really think you can change this place?"

"I _must_ change it," she replies, and he lets her go. 

When he gets back to the Sandsea, one of his barmaids hands him a hefty bag of gil. He upends it over the counter, letting it spill across the dark wood. Archadian soldiers will probably be killed or injured because of the information this money has paid for. Ugly things, wretched things. He takes a coin in his fingers, wondering just what side he's really on.

\--

The pending fete for Vayne Solidor tightens security around the capital, and Tomaj is unable to travel freely between Lowtown and the city proper because of it. It's the night of the fete itself that he learns of the Archadian fleet's movements from some drunken braggart. 

"If those fools try anything," the man says, trying to rally the other men at the table with him, "they'll have a hard time dodging anything those dreadnoughts fire at them."

All Tomaj can think of in that moment is Amalia, and her silly need to value resisting over her own life. He casts aside the thoughts of money and instead just needs to find her. But by the time he exits the Sandsea it's well after dark, and the streets are swarming with foot solders.

He makes it ten steps before the first explosion - the palace. The Resistance took it right to the occupiers' doorstep. "Amalia," he grumbles to himself, thinking of the pretty girl and her cabbage. 

Tomaj is turned away at the gates, nearly trampled as the soldiers try to keep everyone back. The dreadnoughts loom in the Rabanastre skies, firing upon the palace grounds.

When the dawn comes and the smoke clears, Tomaj still has Archadians to serve. Vayne Solidor himself took out some of the top names in the Resistance. Some others were arrested, but he doesn't get any names. There's no caravans, no secrets to sell.

He descends into Lowtown, and it seems as though everyone's vanished. They've scurried into their hovels, underground even in the underground. He can't get anyone to talk until he finds Kytes from Migelo's shop.

"They got Vaan," Kytes informs him. "Vaan and some sky pirates and some lady. Vayne Solidor had them arrested and hauled away, right here." Kytes stomps on the ground to prove his point all the more.

Tomaj tries to play it cool. "Oh, some lady?"

"Yeah, someone in the Resistance," Kytes says. "Amalia."

\--

It feels like a lifetime later when the Archadians' sky fortress crashes outside the city. Freedom almost tastes funny after so long without it, and Rabanastre is slow to emerge from where it's hidden under the streets. Tomaj has spent the better part of two years selling secrets and has managed to miss out on the best kept secret of all - that Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca is alive and will return as their queen.

He quakes in fear, remembering how he spoke to her - how he'd reached out and grabbed her that one day. The Queen. He'd asked the Queen to dinner, tried to buy his way into her bed in exchange for Archadian intel. He skips the coronation, letting his business and Dalmasca's freedom keep him busy for the next few months. He doesn't think he'll ever live it down, even if he and "Amalia" are the only ones privy to it.

A messenger from the palace arrives on a slow day and orders the Sandsea cleared for Her Majesty the Queen. Tomaj can only cower behind his bar counter as the Queen herself, flanked by an honor guard, enters his establishment for the very first time.

"Leave us," she orders them, and reluctantly they comply.

She isn't the filthy, malnourished urchin he remembers, paying five times the cost for food that was already half-rotten. She still holds herself with that air he'd mistaken for foolish pride - pride Queen Ashelia may have, but it's by birthright.

"Your Majesty," he says, unable to meet her eyes, ashamed at the bold way he'd behaved around her when he hadn't known who she was. "You honor me with your presence."

"What do you recommend?" she asks.

He looks up. "Your Majesty?"

"I recall you extending a dinner invitation, and sadly I was unable to accept. You see," she says, far more relaxed and gentle as a ruling monarch than as a resistance fighter, "I wasn't exactly able to wander about freely when you and I were first acquainted, but it's a little easier now."

He blushes. "Surely there's no need for you to..."

"Tomaj," she says rather petulantly. "At the Sandsea. Up top. You asked me if I could really change Dalmasca, and I told you that I had to. But I realized that I couldn't do it alone. You helped, in your own way. I only wish to thank you. So let me thank you already."

"I'm a good listener," he says, finally meeting her gaze and seeing the same spark that had tied his stomach in knots months earlier. "If that was of any help to Your Majesty, then I'm glad of it."

"I am happy we see eye to eye, then," she says, and despite the diadem on her head, it's really the same girl after all. "So tell me, Tomaj. What's for dinner?"

"Well, Your Majesty," he says, rummaging through his shelves for the finest Dalmascan red in his possession. "I went to the market just this morning, and what do you know?"

He grins and pulls out some greens wrapped in paper.

"Got a good price on some cabbage."


End file.
